Dastardly Dentists & Petulant Patients... Patience??

It seems like I was born scared of the dentist.. from my very earliest childhood memories, and family stories, I have been stubbornly wary of them.

My mother used to laugh about my first trip to the dentist, a Dr Moreton, telling everyone that when she took me in for my first visit at age four years.. I was all dressed up in a lil pale blue frilly dress, my honey blonde hair hanging in soft ringlets to my shoulders, large blueish grey eyes, looking so sweet.. then I stubbornly point blank refused to open my mouth for him, regardless of mum's threats.  *laughs*

He was obviously a very wise and experienced dentist though, and someone used to children.. I still remember him picking me up and walking me outside to the little porch at the back of his surgery.  It was located in what is now known as prime real estate in my city, with views over the central business district in one direction, and mountain views in the other.

He pointed out to the mountains and said to me something like.. "aren't they pretty? aaawwwwww" to which i eagerly opened my lil mouth and echoed his sentiment of "aaawwwww" .. of course .. he quickly stuck his fingers in my mouth, and had a good look... *laughs hard*   A very wiley and worthy adversary :D

Unfortunately he had retired by the time I was about eight years old and needing a molar removed, so my mother took me to another dentist.  She walked me up this huge flight of stairs, into this pokey little room which I still remember as being stark white and filled with scarey equipment.  My instincts were alert from the word go.  The dentist got me to sit on a chair, and then he put some liquid onto a piece of cloth, and put it into this large black cushioned face mask contraption and told me to breathe in deeply.

Well, as we have already established, even at such a young age, I was nothing if not stubborn.  And with all my senses screaming danger there was no way I was about to let my guard down around this man.  So he sat there, holding the mask patiently to my face, I sat there wide eyed, staring at him.. and we sat.. and we sat...

Then he took it off and turned to put some more liquid on the cloth.. and not one to miss an opportunity when it presents itself, I jumped up off that chair, ran out the door and down those steps and into the back seat of my mother's car before either of them realised what was happening. *chuckles*.. luckily in those days people were not in the habit of locking their cars.  By the time mum got to me, I was curled up tearfully on the back seat determined there was no way I was going back to that scarey place to smell that awful stuff.

When my mother demanded to know what I thought I was doing, I told her honestly.. "I am tired, I want to go home and sleep"... to which she screeched.. "You're suppposed to be tired!!!!"

*laughssss*

The dentist, to his credit, realised that perhaps I needed someone with more experience dealing with younger patients and made his recommendation to my mother, who promptly arranged an appointment for the following week.

This surgery was much less scarey, and I remember the hugest lolly jar I had ever seen filled with lollipops on the counter.  Incentives for good boys and girls.  The dentist suggested my mother should leave and return in about an hour, not a good move, even at that age I was very aware of the need to protect myself.  So without my mother there I was doubly vigilant.

He took me into his surgery, with he and his dental nurse chatting to me to relax me.. it was all going fairly well, until he made a fatal mistake.  He asked me if I wanted a needle or just wanted my tooth pulled without a needle.  *rolls my eyes* of course I said no!  Pain was not my thing, and needles were not my friends.  So he proceed to actually try to pull this tooth without any type of gas, or ether, or injections!  In retrospect, I think he was trying to be clever and make me realise how much it would hurt, and therefore have me actually request the injection.

*laughs* He didn't count on my stubborn streak.  I kicked and screamed and punched so violently. He stopped and suggested I have the needle.. I told him no .. so he tried again, even the neighbour next door to the surgery who was mowing heard the commotion and came in trying to help hold me down to no avail.. in the end they gave up.   My mother returned to find me sitting in the waiting room, sobbing and sucking lollipops to try to calm me.

The good news was that he then referred me to a dental group that was wonderful.. and ironically, partly owned by the son of the first dentist I had ever seen.. Dr Moreton.

I continued to attend that dental practice up until my early thirties, every time I needed work done it was a simple case of someone holding my hand while they inserted a small canula to the back of my hand, and put me to sleep for the entire procedure.  

Over the years I have learnt to overcome my fears, and found dentists that I trusted enough to give me the standard oral injections.. but now thanks to the advent of modern technology even those fleeting moments of panic prior to the novocaine are no longer part of my dental experience.  Laser dentistry!! Gotta love it!! I have managed to undergo large fillings and root canal treatment with laser dentistry and no pain killers at all. Its my lil miracle.

Of course, my fear of these things never stood in my way of practicality towards others and their dental needs. 

I remember when my younger sister was six and had a very wobbly tooth, I duly took notes during a Shirley Temple movie and then took her downstairs, tied a piece of cotton around the offending tooth, and the other end to the door knob, then had the boy from across the road hold my sister in place while I slammed the door.. *laughsss* .. it was nicely done!   We ran upstairs all excited to show my mother, only to have my eldest sister break out in tears.. lol.. it was her wedding the following week and she'd been hoping and hoping that my sister's tooth would stay in for the wedding photos... *laughs*

Ain't life funny ??

Easter Memories

Easter is a time of religious significance for most, yet it often gets overwhelmed by the seductive powers of the Easter Bunny and copious amounts of chocolate. 

My earliest memories of Easter were going down to the back lawn with a huge square tuppaware container that I would then fill with fresh grass clippings and leaves and pretty flowers from the garden, most of all the bright orange nasturtiums, to make a delightful nest for the Easter bunny to leave lots of yummy chocolate eggs in.

As I got older, the deeper meaning of Easter was instilled upon me, and the ritual of building Easter nests was gradually replaced instead by the ritual of attending an outdoor re-enactment of the crucifixion at a local catholic college each year on the night of Good Friday.  It was actually a tradition that I looked forward to each year.  I would become totally absorbed in the play, the story of Easter filled my heart with a complex mix of emotions such as outrage, grief, compassion, complete awe, love and hope.

As a young mother I was determined to create a legacy of childhood memories for my own child at Easter.  When he was three years old I decided my son was old enough to enjoy an easter egg hunt. So I bought several large sheets of carboard and lovingly drew bunny paw prints all over them in a thick niko pen, then painstakingly spent hours cutting out each and every one of them. No half measures for this apprentice bunny.  I must have made at least fifty paw prints.  Finally, I finished cutting them out close to midnight, then went through the house placing them strategically, with little pockets of easter eggs conspicuously hidden along the way, finally ending with a small easter bunny toy and a basket of eggs at the end.

I went to bed exhausted, and managed to get about four hours sleep before an overly excited little toddler woke up and discovered the bunny's paw prints. I jumped up out of bed as soon as I heard his first delighted lil squeal and dashed down to watch him do the easter egg hunt, my sleepy husband beside me.  I am not sure what I expected really, I think I thought that it would be at least half an hour of watching him follow the pawprints and gather the eggs.  It was all over in less then five minutes.  *laughs*  He saw the paw prints and started running after them, pointing to the eggs as he found them but not stopping to collect them, just totally intent on trying to catch the easter bunny.  When he got to the end he was visibly disappointed to see just a bunny toy and not a real rabbit.  He picked up the basket of eggs and then went back to gather the other eggs he'd spied along the way, leaving bunnikins mummy to collect the pawprints.

After that we resorted to other means of anticipating the arrival of the easter bunny.  Usually involving some arts and crafts activity to make our own easter baskets and nests.

Easter also seems to bring out the romantic in my husband.  Over the years he has done some amazing things for me.  Our first Easter together, he took a simple easter egg, sawed it in half with a hack saw and secreted a tiny crystal bunny figurine in it, and melted it over the heat of a gas lamp to stick it back together.  Of course, I didn't know all this until Easter day, as he just tucked himself away in the spare bedroom for over an hour and packed it all into a cardboard box and wrapped it well with masking tape. 

Another year, he gave me the most beautiful silver charm, of an easter egg that was in two halves and hinged together, when you opened it up, inside there was a tiny silver bunny.  Yet another year, he got a block of my favourite chocolate and broke it up into portions of two squares, wrapping them individually in silver foil, and sticking a label over the top of them that had typed onto each one, an inscription that began with the words "One of my favourite memories of you is .... "

How things change over the years. This year, my son and husband decided that I didn't need chocolate, that it's not good for me.  So instead, they generously gave me the dvd set of the third series of "Merlin" and a box of turkish delight.  Both of which I loved and appreciated, but it just didn't feel like Easter without my choccie eggs. 

Then I realised, I had fallen prey to the commercialism.  I had not gone to church, I had not watched any traditional Easter movies, I had not even stopped to truly consider the real meaning of Easter.

Somewhere along the way I had lost the true meaning of Easter, and I think that is why it has become more of a chore as the years wear on.. because it becomes focussed on the procurement of chocolate and eggs, and not the celebration of my religious beliefs.. it touches my wallet, but not my soul. 

Yes, I enjoy giving my son and husband their easter eggs, but its not the same.  Its simply a giving of gifts rather then a giving of self, at a time when we should be remembering the most selfless giving of all.

Next year I plan to make Easter more a celebration of life and family as well as the religious significance.  Of course.. *grins* ... there will also be chocolate.. it's just not Easter without it...  

Ain't life funny?

Just tell them that the Stork delivers....

When my son was young we decided to be honest re sex.. not to give silly stories re storks and cabbage patches.. and to use full and correct anatomical names..

Our friends had taken the same approach with their children, and it seemed to be working well for them.. .. so at the tender age of four our son knew that babies came from a mummy's tummy and that they grew from a seed daddy put there, and that we then went to the hospital so the doctor could take the baby out.. *grins* .. simple enough.. nothing too graphic :)

So imagine my trepidation when about 3 weeks before his 7th birthday he came to me and asked how did daddy put the seed in mummy's tummy?

I was home alone at the time.. and decided not to panic.. that I could do this.. so I chose my words very carefully and explained the process as simplistically as I could.. that went ok and ended with him saying.. "ohhh Daddy must have been very embarrassed" *laughs*

Cringing, I found myself dribbling on about "well when you really love someone.." *laughs* but no way, no how was I bringing lust into the conversation!! .. lol

Then I did it, I took it that one step too far.. I just had to open my big fat mouth and tell him that the act of daddy putting the seed there was called 'sex'.

You know how sometimes when you say something your realize immediately - "oh oh shouldn't have said that" .. well it was one of those moments.. *laughs*.. so I explained to him that sex is a really private topic and he should never talk to anyone about it except mummy and daddy..
especially not other kids... that was up to their mummys and daddys to do..

Last thing I needed was calls from other parents telling me that my lil Man was giving sex ed classes.. lol... but it all seemed to be okay and the topic was not raised again.

Then a week or so later, we were having afternoon tea at a Coffee Club TM  .. planning his birthday party and an old lady I've never seen before or since (thank goodness) came and joined us and was telling us all about her children.. and said.. "my Adrian was such a wild child.. I don't know what i did to deserve him" .. to which my lil darling pipes up... "I know.. you had sex!!!" .. *laughss*..

The only problem was, at that time his speech wasn't very clear, and I didn't get the last word.. LOL .. so I asked him 3 times until I realised he was saying "sex".. then I just clamped my hand over his mouth *laughs hard* and told him not to talk about that.. and the old lady looked at me and said.. "I thought that is what he was saying".. *laughs*.. 

*rolls my eyes* I felt like saying... geeezzz Lady, I wish you'd told me! 

*laughs again*

Ain't life funny??